


technicalities

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Diego/Klaus if you squint, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Smut, They're like 17 here but still underage, Unbeta'd, Underage Masturbation, Underage Messing Around, starts as smut, turns into fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Luther has been following their father's advice of no fraternization, no illicit activities, nothing between them beyond teamwork.Allison decides that's rather stupid, and takes matters into her own hands.---"Technically," she murmurs, aware that one could call the look in her eyes dangerous, "it's not wrong if we don't even touch each other."
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	technicalities

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of smutty fluff for these two, because it's what they deserve.

"Technically," she murmurs, aware that one could call the look in her eyes dangerous, "it's not wrong if we don't even _touch_ each other."

Luther pushes himself firmly against his wooden headboard, and she holds back a laugh as he surreptitiously pinches his thigh underneath the covers to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, as Allison perches on the edge of his bed in nothing but a t-shirt and some cotton underwear lined in lace and wonders how often he’s dreamt about her like this, how often he wakes up and wishes she was here.

(She dreams of him almost every night).

"What - what are you -"

"Don't you want to touch me?"

"Uh - I, that is, of course, I - "

A wicked grin crosses her lips as she crawls towards him, before deftly settling herself at his side, the warmth from her shoulder seeping into his body like a contagion, like she was something infectious. The scent of her shampoo - lavender and coconut - hits him like a brick.

Luther turns towards her, to try to talk some sense into her, to try to figure out what the heck was going on, but she just winks at him and coyly trails her fingertips up the edge of her own thigh.

She barely resists the urge to laugh at the blush staining his cheeks. That ruddy tint that said _farmboy_ instead of _superhero_. That earnest goodness in him that no amount of Mr. Hargreeves's training or missions had been able to subdue. She just wanted to eat him up - but that would have to wait. He'd been mooning after her for years and now, now that they're seventeen and old enough to have more freedom, to think for themselves and start to decide what they wanted - and she so desperately wanted him - _now_ he gets cold feet.

 _Now_ , he says that it's wrong (even as his bright eyes beg otherwise).

(Even as he’s kissed her senseless, even as he held her as if she would break, even as he pressed her up against the shelves in the library six months prior – hands wandering and lips against his neck and evidence of his desire very clear).

Allison knows Luther better than anyone else, better than she knows herself, honestly, and oh, he wants her.

And he doesn't really care about technicalities, not _really_.

He's just trying to hold on to that moral compass that has guided him so far, that inner guide that still points North even when he is covered in blood, panting and heaving from their latest mission, their most recent kill. And for some reason, she has become the personified version of that obedience, of listening to their adoptive father and she is _sick_ of it.

"Luther."

He nods, eyes fixated on the way her fingertips glided across the smooth skin of her upper thigh, playing with the lace.

"You can touch yourself."

His eyes snap to hers, protest ready on his lips, but she has a response ready for him.

"I'll touch myself, too, next to you."

Luther swallows so hard she could hear it. An audible gulp, like they were in a cartoon. She would have giggled, but the look on his face is deadly serious, and she didn't want him to think she was joking, not now, not when she was so close to being intimate with him in _some_ form, goddammit.

"Technically, we won't be touching each other," she explains, "so we're not breaking any rules, right?" 

Luther gulps, and she knows he's remembering their latest lecture from their father at the dinner table, all about how fraternization was strictly prohibited in any form. Her eyes had darted from Diego to Klaus, from Luther to her hands, clenched into fists at her lap. It was funny, wasn't it? That he didn't even want them to act as siblings, but then forbade them from acting on feelings that were decidedly un-sibling-like? So _funny_. 

"I - I, uh - " His gaze flickered to the locked bedroom door, to the deadbolt that he'd designed and installed himself after Klaus had walked in on him having some... private time. She'd heard all about it, and had only been jealous that Klaus had seen him like that before she had. 

With that, Allison slides her other hand up underneath the shirt to grasp her breast and squeeze, letting her head fall back against the wall as she sighs happily. She is here with Luther, she’s half-naked, he was only in those adorable briefs - what more could she possibly want?

"Whenever you're ready," she murmurs, keeping her eyes half-closed, leaning her head on his shoulder. Some of the tension ekes out of his shoulders, though she can feel his breath hitch. He tentatively brings his right hand under the covers, taking a firm grasp of his half-hard cock and trying not to hiss through his teeth at the sensation, at the reality of what it was like, having her next to him.

Allison notes, distantly, that it is strange that he would jerk off with his right hand. Wasn't he left-handed? But then she slides her fingertips over her cotton underwear, over her center, and she is soaked through and completely distracted by which hand Luther used to touch himself. It’s no surprise that she's drenched, really, considering that she'd laid awake in the room next door, working up the courage to come over here every night for the last week.

But Mr. Hargreeves is on a trip, and Diego had convinced Mom to let them have the night off - free to watch movies (Diego, Die Hard) or listen to records (Vanya, holed up in her room, classical) or try to seduce their not-siblings into sexual encounters that they'd both wanted for ages but only one of them was woman enough to admit (Allison, Luther, point to Allison).

She shakes her head lightly, insistent on clearing her mind of everything but the boy next to her. (While it may not be technically incest, she still had no interest in thinking about their other adoptive siblings at this very moment, thank you very much).

 _Focus_ , _Allison_ : the boy next to her, his broad shoulders and the slow, steady movement of his hand beneath the covers.

Allison licks her lips and swallows the urge to move aside the plaid comforter, to see what he was doing, but she has a feeling he'd snap it back up, embarrassed because of god knows why and then the moment would be ruined and she'd have to start again from scratch. No, she recognizes that this was an activity of trust, at its core, and she wouldn't jeopardize his trust in her for all the hedonistic voyeuristic tendencies in the world.

Besides, from here, at his shoulder, she got to hear him start to pant, start to moan, his eyes firmly closed but his movements picking up speed.

(Where he leads, she would follow, and oh, she would she _gladly_ go).

In one deft movement, she shoves aside the underwear to run a finger along her folds. Once, twice, then carefully pushing into her heat, feeling it throb around her. A moan escapes her mouth and she is glad, suddenly, that their rooms were up in the tower, and that no one else would be up here for hours.

She didn't feel like being quiet. Not as she felt Luther's hips buck up next to her, not as she pinched her nipple in response and let out a stuttering _fuck._

There was a distinct sense of togetherness in this, even as they sat apart, even as he was under the coverlet and she was on top, even as they did not look at each other. She was so aware of his body it almost ached, and the dull throb of desire in her lower belly was replaced by a burning need. Slipping another finger inside should have helped to ease the ache, as it had done before, but instead the spark begins to burn into an inferno. She shifts her legs together and winces as he freezes.

"Would you - "

Allison waits patiently for him to tell her to leave, to stop, for her to pull down the shirt and go back to her room and listen to him groaning out her name as he peaked (again).

"Would you like me to help?"

Her eyes snaps to his - earnest, hopeful, aflame with the same desire that was racing along her veins.

"Help... how?" It wouldn't do to be too eager, or to assume, lest she frighten him off somehow. He’s offering, but she isn't sure he even knows what he was offering, but she has to be sure before she agrees. She is fairly certain that the answer to any question Luther could ever ask her would be a resounding yes, but that is besides the point. Or maybe it is exactly the point? Either way. 

"I could... talk to you?"

Allison raises an eyebrow, all too aware that her trembling thigh was pressed against his, that her hand was still underneath her shirt on her heavy breast, that her fingers were still buried deep inside her quivering cunt.

"Tell you... things."

 _Things_ , she wanted to snort, to tease him derisively. But her intrigue is stronger than her amusement, and her voice unintentionally husky when she asks, "what kind of things would you like to tell me?"

Luther's bright eyes darkens, and his gaze darts down to her lips, licking his own before replying. "The things I dream about doing to you."

"Oh god," she whimpers under her breath. His lips quirk up at the side, the only sign that he'd heard her. Her fingers shift and she wants nothing more than to let loose, to start rubbing and thrusting and writhing next to him, but she had always had the reputation of being the impulsive, reckless one (she _was_ the one that had crawled into his bed, after all) and she wants to prove... something to him. She wants to be good for him, for this boy who looked at her like she was everything.

"I dream about tasting you," he starts, letting his gaze linger on her lips, then dip lower to where her hand had slipped inside her cotton underwear, "how sweet you'll taste, how I won't be able to get enough once I start." 

Allison's eyelashes flutter as her eyes roll back, and Luther's hesitance seems to fade completely. "Once I kiss your lips, once I bury my head in-between your thighs, I won't want to come up for air, not until I've tasted every inch of you."

The rhythm of his hand beneath the covers steadies, a slow and thorough teasing. She matches the pace of his hand to her own, plunging in and out slowly.

"I dream about laying beneath you as your thighs bracket my ears, your hands gripping the headboard until I've soaked my face with you, until even after I wash it off, I can smell it, all day, the pleasure I've dragged from you."

It is more than she’d ever hoped for, more than she’d dreamed of, and still she wants him to continue, wants him to keep talking, to prolong this moment as long as she possibly can.

"I dream about sliding inside of you for the first time, the hot wet heat of your cunt, sliding in and out until you are begging me to fuck you harder, faster, but I won't do it, not until you've come for me once, twice, a third time."

Luther's voice is low and gravely, his eyes fixed on the moans escaping from her lips - and she has seen his focus in the field, has seen the way he leads, the way he strategizes and plans and his shoulders go back and he is the confident Number One she's known all her life, but she's never seen this laser focus fixate entirely on her, not like this.

(And, also, she realizes, in the back of her mind, the tiny piece still available for rational thought, that she is so _fucked_ for their next mission. There's not a shot in hell that she'll be able to focus on their goals if he looks at her like this ever again, now that he's talked to her with his Number One voice).

(That little bit of sanity also notes, reasonably, that she'd be _very_ down to explore the effects of his voice on her in the future). 

She feels like she's about to combust; her heartbeat is pounding in her ears, at the tips of her toes, blood rushing through her body and she is flushed and hot and can barely focus on the movements of her wrist, of her fingers, of trying to match Luther's pace. Her wrist cramps, she is hovering on the edge of oblivion and bliss and stars in her eyes and her cunt is pulsing around her fingers and she is about to topple over and her wrist _fucking_ cramps and -

Luther reaches over with his left hand, his dominant hand, and calmly pulls her dripping fingers out, before pushing his fingers in instead - first one, then two, torturous and slow and mind-numbingly _good_.

He easily matches the rhythm of his fingers in her to the hand wrapped around his cock.

It doesn't take more than another thirty seconds of Luther's fingers, Luther's words, the mere presence of him beside her in his bed - before Allison is coming undone, biting her lip to keep from screaming as she curls into herself, waves of tension passing through her body like ripples from a pond. And through it all, Luther does not stop his steady pace until she has shoved his hand away, until she is panting and trembling and his name is on her lips.

Exasperated, over-the-moon, so amorous of him that it is almost physically painful.

"Luther," she whispers, aware of how her voice is husky, conscious of the objective fact that his gaze is on her mouth, on the flush in her cheeks and down her neck, watching as he moves the hand slick with her juices onto his cock. "Will you come for me?"

"Do you want me to?"

Allison has always been so good at reading Luther, which is why these last several months have been completely baffling to her. But this, this haunted vulnerability in his eyes makes perfect sense, and that it would only come out now, once he has brought her to an earth-shattering peak, once he has been in control, a soft smile crosses her face.

"Yes," she says, emphatically. "I want you, Luther, every part of you."

His eyes shut and he bites his lip and picks up the pace and she watches, entranced, feeling the heat flood her body once more - she is captivated by the way he comes undone, by the way he spills into his hand, by the way he groans low and deep, from the back of his throat. A distant part of her wonders when they can possibly do this again (tonight? tomorrow? always?), but the name from his lips brings her back to the present, perfect moment: "Allison."

She smooths down her shirt and waits patiently for him to catch his breath before asking, brightly. "Want to wash up, then I can stay here for a bit with you?"

Luther snorts and wipes his hands indelicately on a nearby towel. "It's like you've never been a teenage boy," he laughs.

"It's like _you've_ never been a teenage _girl,_ " she teases, before pulling on a pair of shorts and darting into the bathroom down the hall. Being blessed with super-powers did not mean she could avoid a urinary tract infection. At least, she didn't think that was how it worked.

Luther is already firmly under his covers when she returns, and she happily slips into his side, under his arm, fitting her nose into the crook of his neck as if that's where it belongs.

"Technically, that wasn't what I was planning on when I came in here," she confesses, quietly guilty as if it was her idea and her boundaries and she starts to spiral into self-doubt, but he stops her with a kiss to the temple.

"I know," he says, with his usual sincerity. "This is what I wanted.”

"You're all I want, Luther,” she says, and hopes he hears the rest, that if this is too much, or if he doesn’t want to be with her like this-

"I'm glad you came in here," he rumbles into the top of her head, already sounding as if he's ready to drift off.

"But did you like what we did? Did you want to do it?" she presses, feeling like she needs his permission to feel comfortable, even though he's the one that escalated things, the one that took them further. It is a remnant of her powers, that she wants to hear him say that it was him, that she didn’t force him into anything.

Luther leans back, searches her eyes, and plants a tender kiss on her forehead. "Of course."

She is quiet for a moment but can't resist the question tumbling out. "Then why have you been avoiding me?" Her voice is smaller than she'd prefer, and she buries her head back into his neck so that she doesn't have to be afraid.

"I... I've always thought that Dad is the smartest man and so he must be right about everything, and if he insisted that it was wrong for there to be any relationships between us, maybe he was right about that too." Luther sighs and holds her even tighter. "I'm sorry it took a while for me to realize he was very, very wrong."

"Yeah?"

Luther nods. His fingertips trace delicate circles on her back, Latin words that she doesn’t recognize – dead languages she had no use for – and her body relaxes into his, as if she was meant to be here, in his arms, forever.

"This isn't wrong," she whispers into his neck, as she drifts off to sleep.

"Nothing has ever felt so right as you being here with me," he confesses, into the top of her head. 

He thinks of the locket hidden in a secret compartment in his desk, golden and delicate. He kisses her forehead, silently promises her that he won’t ever be that stupid again (he will, of course, but she'll forgive him every time) and lets himself sleep with the girl he loves in his arms.


End file.
